Morning After Syndrome
by Aelia Douglass
Summary: Katla is not ready to face the morning, or the potential emotions behind a night with Argis. Sequel to "Painted Lady."
1. Chapter 1

**Morning After Syndrome is the sequel to Painted Lady (my most popular Skyrim fic) and features some adult themes. It is not a stand-alone, and should not be read until you've read Painted Lady.**

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To say that waking in an unfamiliar bed with a warm body twined about yours is disorienting would be an understatement. It isn't that she doesn't remember the night before, though perhaps it might be easier if she could have forgotten. It is that she remembers it too vividly. She can recall the exact feeling of his hands upon her skin, the gentleness of his touch, the softness of his every caress. She cannot forget the sensations his hands evoked, the craving he created and stoked until it threatened to consume her, the need he soothed and satisfied with his body. She remembers her own brazen behavior with far too much detail, but the courage that drove her to stand bare before him has deserted her, and now she is petrified.

She remembers the _look _in his eyes. The look she couldn't face last night. The look that made her wonder what he was thinking when he gazed at her. It brought to mind dangerous words that she could not begin to deal with last night. Words that she is still not ready to face. She cannot put words to their relationship now.

Not that it is a relationship.

That's putting too much meaning behind it. They were simply two consenting adults who satisfied their needs with each other. There was nothing deeper then, and is nothing deeper now. No, it was about need, nothing else. It meant nothing.

That last thought makes her ache, but she can't face that, either. She's not ready for this. Not ready for the realities of morning. It's not that she wants to undo it, but she wishes she hadn't rushed headlong, that she had spoken first, because words seem hollow now. There are words for what they did, but they don't seem adequate, and she can't quite bring herself to think about her feelings, about what it _meant_ instead of what they _did_.

Instead she turns her gaze to the man beside her. The man who has wrapped himself around her and is holding her tight. His arm drapes across her middle, his skin waming hers where they touch. It's comfortable, and she wants to stay there, but she can't stay. She needs to leave, because she can't face this. Can't face _him _and the reality of what happened. Of what what it might have meant to her, or what it might not have meant to him. Any thoughts she might have entertained about slipping away before he wakes vanish when she sees his face.

Sleep has smoothed his features, taken away some of the hardness of battle and age. He looks so much younger, softer, and more vulnerable that it steals her breath. Argis has always been strong, and unchanging. Nearly ageless, though she knows he is older than her. But as she gazes upon his face, she wonders if he is as old as she had thought, or if it is just the wear of a hard life. Her hand cups his cheek, and he stirs, sleepy eyes blinking open, a small smile curving his lips.

"Katla," he murmurs. And then his mouth is on hers as he steals a good-morning kiss. As he moves, she recognizes a hardness pressing into her hip, but it's not demanding, and this moment isn't about that. She doesn't know what it's about, but it's not that.

She doesn't know what this is, but he seems so happy to see her that it makes her ache. She wishes she could trust that his happiness was about some deeper feelings, and not about their actions. That it stems from an emotional satisfaction rather than physical contentment. She tries to muster a smile, and when she can't, his face falls. He pulls back, away from her as if she burned him. Anguish distorts his features, and she's forced to look away, because she can't face any of this.

"Right." He says after a moment. And then he's gone, and she's naked in his bed, confusion and frustration making tears burn behind her eyes.

But she will not cry for him. For this. For what it might have been, but wasn't. For what was, and cannot be again. It doesn't amount to anything, and she cannot cry for nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

He had been thinking about her for months. He had imagined all the nuances of her, the silken feel of her skin, the beauty of her scars, even the noises she might make when he caressed her. He had thought about her so much that he had hardly been able to believe it when she had let him paint her.

And still he had hesitated, because he had been afraid of this.

Afraid of the awkwardness of regret, of the pain of silence where there had once been words. He should not have allowed anything to happen. He was older than her, more experienced, he should have known better.

But he had not been thinking with his brain, and now things could not be the same. They could not go back to the easy camaraderie, the companionable silences were forever lost. _She_ was lost to him. He was sure of it.

He had departed quickly, leaving her there alone, so he didn't have to face her leaving. He had never liked it when she left before, but he knew it would be infinitely harder this time, after what they had shared.

And what they had lost.

So he had gone to the Silver-Blood Inn, determined to lose himself in his ale. He did not want to think about what he would find when he went home. If he could even call it _home_ after that. Perhaps he should speak to the Jarl, or maybe Raerek would be a better choice. Surely he knew something of stupid decisions and their consequences. Maybe they could move him to a quiet post on the edges of the Reach and he could work on forgetting her.

With every tankard of ale, the idea seemed better. He might have even done it, but even Nord warriors have their limits, and he had passed his long ago. When he had risen to head to Understone Keep, he had staggered and nearly fallen.

He wasn't sure how he had gotten back, but he now faced Vlindrel Hall, and the silence that awaited him. For all that he was too drunk to go to the keep, he was not sure he was ready to face the emptiness within what had once been home.

He was not sure what he would do without her.


	3. Chapter 3

When Katla finally becomes aware of herself again, she's not sure how long she's been sitting, staring at the blank wall before her. It might have been a few minutes, but from the stiffness in her joints when she finally moves, it must have been closer to hours. She blinks a few times, clearing her vision, and runs her hands over tired eyes.

It is her growling stomach which has roused her. It, at least, is something she can understand, something which makes more sense than the pain that seems to be resonating from her chest.

She _hurts _and she can't even explain why.

Katla's footsteps are uneven as she stumbles toward the hearth, unsure of what she will eat, simply knowing that she needs something to make her stomach stop growling. Unfortunately, she has never been the cook, and until she had the luxury of housecarls, she often simply gnawed on whatever bread she had picked up recently. Her eyes flutter shut as she tries to deal with the stab of pain that comes when she imagines never seeing Argis cook for her again.

It meant nothing, so why does it _hurt _so much?

She has wanted him for so long, has longed to feel the brush of his skin against hers, so why is it that now that she has gotten exactly what she wanted, she isn't happy?

Argis is a strong man, a good man who bears the marks of his strength and experience with pride. He is glorious, and she has been enamored of him since she first laid eyes upon him. He has always been oblivious, _had _been oblivious, anyway, until last night. And now things cannot go back to where they were. Not that she's sure what that was, anymore.

She's sitting on the floor, a gnawed-on loaf of bread in her lap when the door opens, and Argis stumbles in. He freezes when he sees her, his eyes wide with surprise.

"You didn't leave?" His words are slurred, but he stumbles toward her, his hand outstretched. "Unless I'm drunk enough to hallucinate. Can you get that drunk?"

Katla is frozen, a deer caught in the hunter's sights. She doesn't know how to react. She wants to run to him, but she also wants to flee, to get away from this, from him. From the pain that this is causing her.

But it's _Argis _and she's wanted him for so long, and he's here, in front of her, and he's reaching for her. He is on his knees before her, his gaze intent on her face, despite the mead he must have been drinking. She lets his hand cup her cheek, feels the warmth and strength of his hands wiping away the moisture of tears. She leans into his hand and tries not to let her thoughts get in the way.

"Katla," her name is a sigh as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap. She is confused; part of her wants to melt into his embrace, and part of her wants to flee. She is afraid he will tell her that it was meaningless, but his actions are telling her that it was not, and she is not sure which to trust.


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, Argis had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to enter Vlindrel Hall, whether she was there are not. He supposed it would be best to get it over with, because things like this tended to be worse with time.

First, he wouldn't be able to face the Hall, and he would need to be elsewhere in Markarth. Then Markarth would be too close, and it would seem like too much of a reminder, and then the Reach. Eventually, _Skyrim_ itself would be a reminder of her. His Thane. His _Katla_.

It would be a lie to say that she was the only woman he had ever wanted, and he tried not to lie to himself. But she was different, somehow. It had snuck up on him so slowly that he had not even realized what had happened until it was too late. He needed her, and her absence was like a hole in him.

Every time she left, she took a part of him with her. And every time she returned, safe once more, he was overjoyed. But he had never been able to tell her, because he had been a coward. And when he had finally had a chance, he had let her push him away.

He was an idiot.

It was with this thought echoing in his mind that he had entered Vlindrel Hall.

And there she had been.

He had wanted her so badly that his mind had created an image of her, sitting at the hearth. Reflexively, he reached for her, only to stop himself. She couldn't be real. But there were tears upon her cheeks, crumbs upon her lap from where her hands have absently shredded a loaf of her favorite molasses bread, her hair is mussed, her face haunted. He would not imagine this.

It was the surprise which flitted across her face which made him realize that it really was her. That she has not left, yet.

He stumbled toward her, and fell to his knees. And then he was holding her, feeling the softness of her in his arms once more. The ale, combined with the realization that this might be his last chance to tell her what he felt, gave him courage as the words began to fall from his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

She is clinging to him and babbling nonsense. Her cheeks are wet, and her nose is running, and still he kisses her. He is gentle; as though he is afraid she might break. Perhaps she could, she doesn't know anymore. She just knows that she cannot live without him, no matter what she has told herself this morning.

The aching emptiness in her core vanished as soon as Argis returned. She knows it is because he fills the void in her, and that she _loves_ him. That word terrifies her, and leaves her, the big-bad-Dovahkiin quaking in her boots, but she is in love with Argis.

"Katla," he whispers again, his forehead pressed to hers, his gaze boring into her. She is transfixed by him, his gaze. His rough hand is cupping her cheek, and she desperately wants to know what he is thinking when he looks at her. "I thought I'd lost you, and I didn't know what I would do. I couldn't bear the thought of living without you, because you mean everything to me." The tears are back, burning the back of her eyes, but she doesn't care because he's right here, and he's speaking to her.

"Argis-" his name is a reverent whisper on her lips, but he kisses her into silence.

"I just need you to understand, and then I'll leave if that's what you want." He closes his eyes now, and she wonders what could be so hard for him to say that he cannot look at her. "I love you. More than anything. You are the reason I get up in the morning, and every time you leave me here, I worry about you. I think about you every moment of every day."

She hears the strain in his voice, the hesitation between his words, and she realizes that Argis is working very hard to speak. The words are difficult for him to convey.

"Argis-" she interrupts, and this time she won't be silenced. "Argis, I love you, too."

He stares at her for a heartbeat, disbelief marking his features. And then his face breaks into a smile, and he is showering kisses upon her. She sees tears in his eyes, she hopes they are tears of joy, that he is as happy as she is right now.

"Truly, Katla?"

"Truly, Argis."


	6. Chapter 6

Hearing Katla tell him that she loved him was what made him realize that he had never felt true, unadulterated joy before. Her revelation changed that, and he finally knew what it felt like to be loved. Not just to be loved, but by _Katla_

She loved him!

He wanted to scream it to Markarth, to Skyrim, to the _world_. He wanted to tell everyone and everything because it made him so damn happy that he couldn't bear the thought of keeping this news to himself. But he would have to let go of her for that to happen, and he knows he won't be letting her go for some time.

Argis kissed her, enjoying the feeling of her body against his, even if her cheeks were damp. Or were his cheeks damp? Did it matter? No, nothing mattered but her. But them. But Katla and Argis holding each other and admitting what they felt.

He had come so close to losing her. Through his own stupidity, or hers, or both of theirs. He vowed to never let that happen again, to never let their stubbornness come between them again. It would not be easy.

"Katla," he pulled himself away from her lips, forced himself to pull back far enough that he could see her face.

"Yes?" Her lips were puffy, her skin blotchy, her nose red, and her cheeks wet, but she was still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And she loved him. That feeling of joy threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to ask her the most important question of his life;

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes, Argis." She laughed, beamed at him. "Yes, I will marry you."


End file.
